


Drive

by Ninni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pining!Sam, Unrequited!Wincest, Wincest - Freeform, conversations in the impala, pining!dean, pov switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 16:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninni/pseuds/Ninni
Summary: Sam asks Dean a question.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam is a little bit drunk, because he had some bourbon tonight and now Sam’s eyes are glittery; laughter bubbling beneath every word he speaks, riding shotgun next to Dean where they speed down a dark Tennessee highway.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The question hits Dean in the chest like an arrow, and he glances over at Sam’s relaxed, tipsy smile. He looks at Sam under silence for as long as he dares, before he turns his head back to the road.

“Once,” he says, levelly.

Sam’s voice is a little rough from the whiskey. “When did it pass?”

Dean’s knuckles go white around steering wheel.

“It didn’t.”

When they put the state border behind them a few hours later, none of them has said another word.  


	2. Chapter 2

Sam feels the bourbon warm his entire insides.  _The bourbon_ , he assures himself, and not Dean’s eyes flickering over to him every now and then as they speed down the highway through the pitch-black night.

He doesn’t know why he asks Dean, and when Dean says ‘once’, with his eyes on the road, Sam feels like  _killing_  something.

“When did it pass?” Sam asks, cursing the almost possessively hissing notes that seems to worm into his voice.

Dean becomes tense next to him; his shoulders draws up, as if he’s in a fight or flight mood. Sam waits.

“It didn’t,” Dean finally says, unwillingly, as though he wants the answer to be something different.

Sam feels his stomach churn, and he spends the following hours fighting the overpowering jealousy that makes his hands  _tremble_.


	3. Chapter 3

They’re still in the car when it’s two am, and Dean’s given up on trying to find a motel for the night. He feels the fatigue in his  _bones_ , and as he pulls over, he speaks for the first time in hours.

“We gotta sleep in the car, I need some eyeshut.”

Sam clears his throat. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, me too.”

The silence that stretches between them again as Sam settles in the backseat, and Dean in the front, is much more profound without the engine running; without the soft roaring of the car speeding through the night.

Dean can hear Sam’s soft breathing in the backseat, steady and calm. He’s almost fallen asleep when Sam asks a question into the night that makes Dean’s entire insides freeze and his eyes screw shut tightly.  

“Who is it?”

Dean is too tired,  _of everything_ , to pretend like he doesn’t know what Sam means. He just begs, quietly, “Sam, don’t.”

“Come on, who is it you’re still in love with?” Sam sounds annoyed, and it  _tears_  at something inside Dean; it tears at the carefully constructed barrier he’s had many years to build within himself to keep the truth from clawing its way out of his mouth and ruin  _everything_.

“I said fucking  _don’t_ ,” Dean snarls as he gets out from the impala, slamming the car door shut.

His heart pounds like he’s run for miles, and he feels everything spiral out of control when Sam follows him out of the car.

“What the hell is going on, Dean?” Sam half-shouts, his arms exasperated in the air. “Why can’t you just  _tell_  me?”

And just like that, in the middle of nowhere, Dean’s neat barrier crumbles.

He lounges himself at Sam and fists the collar of his jacket as he pushes them both up against the side of the car. “I can’t tell you because he wore a castoff Led Zep tee,” Dean growls slowly, “And he’d just wasted his first vamp, and he fucking  _glowed_. Because I fell in love with him in the backseat of this damn car when I was eighteen years old, and ever since that day, I’ve hated myself.”

Something drops from Sam’s face; the annoyance fades from his moonlit face and is replaced with a look of something Dean is too terrified to define, and his chest aches.

Sam’s fingers dig into Dean’s upper arms, and for a moment, everything is perfectly still. The faint rustling of the wind through the forest surrounding the highway seems to falter, and even the soft breeze around them settles.

Dean can only assume it’s the calm before the storm, and he closes his eyes.

He waits for his world to end.  

“Dean,” Sam whispers, “Look at me.”

Sam’s eyes are shiny, and his hand is very warm when he gently cups Dean’s face. “Dean,” he whispers again. “Dean,  _me too_.”

“Don’t you do that,” Dean begs, his throat thick with distress. “Even if you hate me, please, don’t do that.”

Sam’s fingers gently curl behind his nape, and suddenly Dean can feel Sam’s breath against his mouth; damp and hot. “I was so jealous,” Sam breathes. “When you told me. That you were in love. I felt like I needed to  _kill_  them, Dean I swear, I was gonna do it. I love you, I’ve  _always_  loved you.”

Dean gasps softly, because a strong arm encircles his waist and he’s suddenly flush against Sam, who’s warm and lovely under Dean’s palms.

“Please,” Dean begs. He’s not even sure what he’s asking for; but when Sam kisses him, he knows.

He asked for this, for Sam’s hot lips against his; for their keening noises mingling together as they kiss up against the car, for Sam’s arms around him.

Dean feels Sam’s heart race beneath his fingertips, and he thinks,  _perhaps my world doesn’t end like this_.

Perhaps, this is how it starts.

 


End file.
